“His was a very wealthy family too. Shady dealings though. They made their money in various way. Drugs being the most profitable for them. I heard they would lend money to people who couldn’t borrow through conventional means. I was so angry at your father for taking what had been mine. It didn’t take long to find a way of making him pay for what he’d done. It was the perfect way for me to stick it to him without him knowing. I’d taken on a risky business deal and needed quick cash. Banks weren’t going to lend on something like that so I went to your father. Only thing with borrowing money from people like them is it always comes with strings attached. High interest and zero patience with anyone who gets behind in their payments. So, seriously, what’s a man to do? I needed to find some way of paying him back faster. I did a little digging and found out some interesting things about your father.” He paused as if considering his next words.
“Jesus…no.” Lyla whispered the words and when I turned briefly to her, I could see the look of horror on her face as she stared at the hateful man sneering at me through the TV.
‘I found out your father had a brother who liked poking his dick in young boys. Can you imagine?” He gave a look of horror but it did nothing to hide the gleam of satisfaction I saw in his eyes.
“Your father knew this and it seems kinky shit runs in the family. Of course, it’s all very hush hush, you understand. It would have brought shame to the family had word got out. Perhaps the arrangement we had might have been called ‘blackmail’ by some but I prefer to refer to it as a mutually beneficial agreement. See the family don’t like everyone to know that your uncle liked to fuck boys and your father liked to watch. Although I’m not sure if he just got off on watching his brother fuck boys or whether watching was his way of ensuring the debt owed to them was being paid. I discussed a payment plan with them which was beneficial to all of us.” He paused, his eyes seeming to lock on mine. “You can probably see where I’m going with this?”
There was a dull roar in my ears that I worried would drown out the rest of my father’s words and yet a part of me longed to silence the rest of what he had to say. I winced when Lyla’s hand tightened on mine and her nails dug into my skin, causing a stab of pain. When my eyes left the TV and snapped to hers, there were tears streaming down her cheeks. It wasn’t the sight of her tears that got me though, it was the complete and utter anguish on her face. I knew what was coming, but so did Lyla. Her face was the example of what mine should be, but right now, I was incapable of doing anything, of expressing a single emotion while the hateful words of the man on the TV screen continued to come at me, like barbs. Catching and snagging at me. Systematically shredding me piece by agonising piece. Word by hateful word.
‘I found a suitable payment plan that was a win/win for all of us. Your uncle got to be a sick fuck with you, and damn, did he like you. It pains me to have to admit this but you matured fast. You filled out and I know you were popular with the ladies. Your uncle couldn’t get his dick out fast enough the first time he got to fuck you. Your father enjoyed himself too and got to make sure the debt was being paid. Dumb fuck had no idea he was watching his own son being done up the ass by his brother. You have no idea how satisfying that was for me. He really was a dumb fuck too. If either one of them had ever really looked into your eyes, they might have realised…” He trailed off and shrugged.
“But then, who knows? They were both pretty stupid. They probably wouldn’t have seen what was so fucking obvious to me, if I handed them a map and hung a neon sign over you. You’ve got your father’s eyes. Not that I was going to point that out. It was extremely satisfying to know that that asshole had no idea you were his son. It was all his fault though. He should have kept his dick out of your mother. She was mine. She was never meant to be his.” His voice rose, his expression becoming more agitated.
“Your mother was mine and because of him and her not keeping her legs shut, I got stuck raising her bastard son. She doted on you and how much of that love did I get?” He slammed his hands down on the chair’s arms again. “None. I got none. She never showed me an ounce of genuine affection over the years we were married. She gave it all to you. You…her bastard son. So, while she stuck it to me by never giving me some of her love, I stuck it to her and you, and your father. I fucked you all and you know what?” He leaned forward as if about to tell me a secret. “I got off on that. I got off on the satisfaction of knowing I was fucking with you all.” He paused and laughed, and hearing him and seeing him so clearly amused and not even slightly remorseful over what he’d subjected me to, brought tears to my eyes.
“Shay. Baby. Are you ok?” Lyla’s voice was soft, tentative and when I turned to her, I could see the worry and fear in her tear drenched eyes.
“I’m alright.” I snorted. “Well, as ok as a person can be when they find out they were pimped out to their own uncle, by the man they thought was their father while in fact their real father was watching, all to help pay off a debt. I knew he was a sick shit to let me be used to pay out a debt, but I had no idea he was sticking it to all of us really.”
Lyla leaned into me, her lips brushing over my cheek. “That’s right baby.” She whispered. “Don’t let that asshole win. You are not at fault. You are not to blame. That…animal,” her eyes shot to the TV before returning to me, “that despicable…thing is to blame for all of this. You didn’t deserve any of it, what he did to you. Don’t…let…him…win.” She squeezed the words out, her expression fierce and my heart contracted as I stared into her eyes.
Still she loved me. Still she tried to protect me. It was all there on her face for me to see, and I leaned in to kiss her when the sound of someone clearing their throat drew my attention back to the TV, where the bastard was staring at me, almost like he knew what I was thinking.
‘Now I bet you’re wondering who your father is, aren’t you? Is it driving you crazy? I know it would, if it was me. Are you after something? Do you want a name? Well, sorry, I’m not giving you that. If you want the name of your uncle, then again, no can do. Wouldn’t do you any fucking good anyway. They’re both dead. They died about four years ago in a hell of an auto wreck. Your father always did like to drive fast cars, too fast. He also liked to dabble in various drugs, and have you noticed they always like to warn us about drink driving but they don’t warn us so much about drugs and driving? Very remiss of them. He was a fool your father. Thought he was invincible and thought he could fly with the amount of shit in his system. Turned out, he couldn’t.” He laughed, like it was the funniest thing he’d heard.
“Now if you’re doubting anything I’m telling you, you can open that envelope. It’s a paternity test I had done. Pays to know someone in the medical field who will keep the results private. Go ahead, look. He waved his hands at me as if encouraging me.
As you’ll see, there’s no way I can be your father. Of course, I can’t prove that your mother’s first love was your father through DNA, but once you see the photos I think you’ll see for yourself.”
Hitting the pause button on the remote, I stood up to get the envelope, and scissors to cut through the tape that was wrapped all around it. Sitting back down alongside Lyla, I sucked in a deep, calming breath before beginning the process of cutting through all the tape that was bound around it.
Once I got past all the tape and opened it up, there were a few sheets of paper filled with stuff I didn’t really understand until I got to the last sheet. After scanning it and bypassing all the medical bullshit, I got to the bit which proved beyond a shadow of a doubt, a near 100% confirmation that the man I’d thought was my father, was in fact: not. There was more in the envelope and I shook out a couple of small photos.
As soon as I looked at them I felt nausea roll through me. I knew them. They looked different in the photos to how I remembered them. They were older, so I could only assume the photos were from not long before their deaths four years ago. Still, even a little older, I had no trouble recognising them. One was my rapist and t
he one who had been the watcher, was my real father.
Looking at him now, it was easy to see the similarities between us. He was smiling, showing off perfect white teeth. His arm around some woman who had been mostly cropped out of the photo. He had my eyes, or I had his. They were the same kind of pale silvery blue and we looked to have the same nose. It was so obvious we were related that I didn’t need DNA testing to prove it.
Given the circumstances when we’d met, I had a bloody good excuse for not seeing the similarities between us. Shame over what was happening to me and struggling with the pain from being raped resulted in me keeping my eyes downcast most of the time. I hadn’t wanted to look into the faces of any of the men involved.
Perhaps my real father should have seen it but then he’d never known my mother had been pregnant. He’d had no idea I existed. Not that it made any difference. He was no better than my rapist or the man who raised me. He’d sat there and witnessed me being raped numerous times and clearly had never had a problem with it.
Turning my attention to the other photo I dragged in a ragged breath as I stared at his harsh features. Although he and my father were brothers, the family resemblance was not as obvious.
His eyes were darker, colder, a steely grey. I shivered looking into them as he appeared to glare at me in the photo. He’d always looked like he was glaring at me. He hadn’t cared if he was hurting me. He hadn’t cared how much I’d begged him to stop or cried out from the brutality of his thrusts. He hadn’t cared on those times when he’d been especially rough and I’d bled. He’d just barked out orders and pushed me around, forcing my body into positions to suit him, and through it all, the other men, had watched.
The man I now knew was my real father had studied us with watchful eyes, occasionally rubbing a hand over his cock through the dress pants he’d always worn. But it was the look on the face of the man who had raised me that I remembered the most. A look of sadistic satisfaction and enjoyment. He was right about what he’d said. He really did get off on watching me suffer.
With my focus shifting between the photos and the man on my TV screen, I felt anger rising in me. They had ruined my life. All three of them had taken everything from me and fucked me up. I hated them. I hated them for what they’d put me through. I was glad they were all dead because if they’d still been alive, I’d have killed them myself, or died trying.
They had used me for various reasons. The asshole’s quest for revenge against the man who had gotten his hands on my mother first. My father condoning my uncle’s penchant for raping boys and my uncle for being the sick fuck who liked to rape boys, like he’d done with me.
It wasn’t my fault. None of it. I could finally see that. It was as if the blinkers had been removed and everything was hitting me with amazing clarity right now. I’d been the victim through all of it. I’d been doomed because the man who raised me was never going to love me. He hated me every bit as much as I’d grown to hate him. It wasn’t my fault. I hadn’t deserved any of the treatment I’d received.
“It wasn’t my fault.” The words fell from my lips, barely more than a whisper. “I was punished my whole life for something I had no control over.” I raised tortured eyes to Lyla. “Why? Why did I have to pay? None of it was my fault.”
Lyla’s eyes filled with tears and her hands rose to cup my cheeks. “You’re right baby. None of it was your fault. You were treated abominably for something you had no control over. That man who raised you punished you. He took out his anger and pain on you which is so unfair and cruel, and horrible. He’s an awful man. They all are. You are too good to be associated with any of them. You are not them. You are better than them. You are good and kind and sweet. You are not them…not them.” She began to rain kisses over my face and I closed my eyes, my arms settling around her, clinging to her as I absorbed her warmth and comfort, and love.
When she finally pulled away she lowered her eyes to the photos in my hands. “Can I see Shay?” She asked and I handed them to her.
“Oh god, he’s your father, isn’t he?” She pointed to the left hand photo.
I stared down at his features. “Yeah.”
“They both have a European look about them.”
“Yeah, Italian, Sicilian I think. Links to the Mafia. You heard what he said.” I raised my eyes, flicking them towards the TV and back to the photos.
“Oh my god. This one looks evil.” The disgust in Lyla’s voice and the shudder that racked her body drew my focus to the other photo she held.
She was right. He was evil. Everything about him was bad and cold, and evil. Those eyes. God, the look of intent I’d seen in those eyes right before I was made to turn and bend over for him.
I needed to stop thinking about it. They were gone. Everyone who had hurt me and screwed with me was gone. They were all dead. Straightening, I turned my attention back to the TV, ready now, ready for whatever shit the ‘asshole’ was ready to dish to me. Hitting the remote so the DVD continued, I waited.
“So how does it feel to know that not only were you used to pay out my debt to your father and uncle but I had the satisfaction of watching your father and uncle extract payment from you? It was fucking perfect. Damn fool. If he’d looked closer he might have worked it out. Those eyes. You’ve probably noticed from the photos but you have the same eyes. Not too many have eyes the colour of yours and your father’s. I can understand you not noticing it. You were kind of busy I guess, but I don’t know how the fuck he missed it. Maybe because he was more interested in what was going on at the other end of you.” He snickered.
“It was hilarious really. They had no idea they were fucking around with their own blood. The Italians take care of family. Something tells me they would have been really, really pissed off if they’d found out. I can’t tell you how much satisfaction it gave me, and it happened all under your mother’s nose. She had no idea. I’d fooled her too. All she cared about was you. She trusted me to look after you. I told her I’d keep her secret as to who the real daddy was and I swore with such heartfelt emotion that I’d raise her little bastard for her as if he were my own. She believed it.” He laughed again.
“You believed the shit I fed you and kept quiet. You were such a fucking ‘mummy’s boy’ and you believed me. I suppose now I’m dead I can confess that the photos I had of you with your uncle and father have been destroyed. Once they died it seemed pointless to keep them. I couldn’t risk them being found by anyone. Imagine the scandal? Still, it didn’t matter with you. Even when they were long gone, I could still control you with verbal threats. It was too easy with you. You fell for everything I told you. You even thought I’d tell your mother what was happening and she’d be ashamed of you? Jesus. So fucking gullible. You were all fucking fools. You made it easy for me to keep fucking with you all. In the end, I got my rocks off knowing you were all taking it up the ass because of me. There’s no will either. I don’t give a flying fuck what happens to the house or few things I had left before I died. I’ve got debt. It’ll have to go through probate and once that takes place, you’ll get very little anyway. Only fitting when you aren’t even the fruit of my loins. You’re a bastard Shay and a bastard gets what a bastard deserves: nothing.”
He finally fell silent, just sitting there staring at me for a few moments before standing and moving towards the camera. I watched the image abruptly change to nothing but snow on the screen and I knew the DVD message was over.
“Shay?” I could hear the question in Lyla’s voice and my eyes dropped to her hand when she placed it on my knee, sliding it up and down my thigh. I knew what she was doing. She was worried about me and trying to offer comfort. The thing was, I didn’t really need it. As fucked up as all this was, I finally got it.
“I’m ok baby. Don’t worry about me.” I placed a hand over hers, halting its movement. “I get it. I finally get it. I spent my fucking life trying to please him and for what? It was never going to work. He hated me. Before I’d even been born, he hated me. I
never stood a chance and he’s not even my fucking father.” I raised my eyes to hers. “Do you have any idea what a fucking relief that is to me? I’m not related to that piece of shit. That fucking psychopath isn’t my father. He’s nothing. Well, he’s insane, but he’s nothing to me.”
“Oh Shay.” The words left her lips on little more than a sigh. “You’re really ok? You can see that none of this is your fault? That you have no reason to feel shame? You’re right. It’s just as well he’s dead because someone as evil, sick and twisted as him doesn’t deserve to live.”
“I’m glad my real father is dead too. It doesn’t matter that he never knew who I was. He was as fucked up as my rapist and the asshole who raised me. The whole situation was fucked up. I was raped repeatedly to help pay off a debt but it wasn’t even about that. He just wanted the satisfaction of watching me suffer because he got off on that. I was punished because he wasn’t my mother’s first choice. Not that I’m sure my real father was much of a choice.” I snorted. “You don’t have to worry about me Lyla. I’m not going to run off or do something stupid. I’m not going to let that bastard rob me of more of my life. He fucked with me for years and he fucked me over for too damn long. My whole life was about lies, manipulation, abuse and control. I’m not going to give him the satisfaction of winning.”
“What about your mother? How could she have wanted a man like your real father? He was happy to watch a boy being raped by his brother in exchange for cash. How could she have not seen the kind of man he was?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe he wasn’t always bad, but then Italian, Mafia connections? I guess nothing good can ever come of that. My mother was young when she had me. Him,” I pointed to the TV although the DVD had finished, “he was 15 years older than her. She was only 20 years old when she had me. I know from the way she used to talk that she’d led a pretty sheltered life. Her family expected the women to be…”I trailed off, searching for the right words. “Good girls. Probably virgins on their wedding nights. That’s the only thing that asshole said that wasn’t completely fucked up. A baby born out of wedlock would have brought great shame. I’m sure with my real father out of the picture, he would have played on all her fears and insecurities and pushed her to marry him.”
Sex God Page 38
